


A Mother's Touch

by more_than_words



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:58:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3292934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/more_than_words/pseuds/more_than_words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine making dinner for Sam and Dean at the bunker one night after a hunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mother's Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first time posting on AO3, so, here goes.  
> This fanfic is based off of this post: http://mamapeterson.tumblr.com/post/88222057786/jessica-bones-winchester-badassangeladdict.  
> Comments/critiques/general feedback is greatly appreciated!

The Winchesters sat across from each other at the small table that was in Bobby's kitchen while you flit around the room preparing dinner. The discussion in the room involved all types of monsters, ranging from alpha vamps to zombies, and non-monsters that were equally as dangerous, mostly prophets and angels. Just typical dinner table conversations.

"Well," Sam began, "as far as hunts go, the news has been pretty quiet lately. I've scrounged up a couple of cases that might be something." He paused for a second, clicking around on his computer screen, opening up bookmarked tabs. "Alright, so there's been lots of missing people reports over the last couple of weeks in Como, Mississippi...."

Sam went on to describe multiple hunt options, but Dean quickly lost focus and tuned him out. He watched as his little brother absent-mindedly struggled with a long strand of hair that kept dangling in front of his face. He kept pushing it back and out of the way, only to have it fall right back in front of his eyes again every time. Dean grinned, the whole situation amusing to him, and Sam hesitated in his speech about hunts.

"Why do I have the feeling you're not listening to anything I'm saying," the younger Winchester asked impatiently, leaning back from his computer and crossing his arms. This only made Dean chuckle, Sam's sudden movement making the hair strand flop right back in his face again. "What?!"

"I was just thinking how badly you need a hair-cut, Sammy," he replied. A snort could be heard from your direction, obviously agreeing. Dean had told his brother countless times to trim his flowing locks, but had yet to succeed in persuading him. Sam just rolled his eyes with a smirk and kept scrolling through options. "I'm serious!" Dean continued. "You look like a friggin yeti!" You giggled quietly, an adorable, lilting sound that made Dean turn to look at you. Sam smiled knowingly. There were two times when he was sure to never have Dean's full attention, when he was hungry or if you were in the room. Right now, both things were in effect, so Sam shut up about the job, understanding that he didn't stand a chance talking to the back of Dean's head as he, in turn, watched you work.

You'd refused the help of the boys earlier, insisting that they should sit and rest after the hunt they'd just been on. Determined as ever, you then set out to find something edible in the recesses of Bobby's refrigerator and cupboards. It was a dangerous mission, but you seemed to be doing pretty well so far. Dean watched you for a moment, admiring your work ethic. You were stubborn, never one to shy away from a challenge, just like you'd been when the boys had first met you way back on that hunt in Montana. After seeing what was really out there, lurking in the shadows and hiding in the dark, you'd decided to tag along and become a hunter yourself. Of course, this was not the popular opinion and it took a while to convince the brothers that you could handle it, but you'd done it, and looking back, the boys didn't regret the decision. The hunting lifestyle was not an easy thing to pick up, but you'd taken it all in stride like a champ. You seemed to be meant for the job. You were sharp as a tack and you smiled through pain like it was nobody's business. It hadn't been long before you actually began to be useful on cases instead of just an extra body to haul around. And, to be honest, you'd grown on the brothers as time went on.

Dean noticed that you hummed while you worked, so quietly you thought no one else could hear. It was a soothing sound. He loved to hear you sing, but you were always so embarrassed and rarely sang in public. So, he didn't say anything about being able to hear you hum.

There was a book laying next to the stove that you would pick up whenever you were waiting for the water to boil. You were engrossed in it most of the time. You'd stop humming and grip the spine of the book firmly, yet turn the pages as if they were delicate flower petals. Reading and drawing had always been two of your favorite pastimes, something Dean would never understand but would respect because you liked them. He liked all of the quirks about you, not to mention the fact he thought you were pretty cute too. He watched you closely as you read, the intensity of the novel's content becoming obvious as you skimmed the page with a sense of urgency and bit your lip anxiously. Your eyes held an ardor that Dean knew he would never understand from reading a book. He could only experience it secondhand, by having you tell him what was going on in the world between the pages. He'd much rather you tell him than read it himself. Watching you tell the story was much more interesting; your gestures elaborate and your speech excited as you tried to explain your passion to him.

"Good book?" Dean asked abruptly, breaking the silence. You jumped, startled out of the bubble between you and the real world. Both brothers chuckled and you closed your eyes and exhaled, trying to calm your galloping heart. "Did I scare you?"

"Yes," you answered finally, not able to keep the smile from spreading across your face. "And yes, you did!" You laughed, putting down your book to commence your cooking. "It was a good part too!"

"Really?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."

"No."

"Oh c'mon! I'll never read it anyway."

"But Sam might," you said matter of factly, dumping noodles into the water. "And I don't wanna ruin it for him." Dean looked at his brother, who shrugged to say that he'd considered reading the book, and rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he gave in. "Later then?" You smiled slightly, your profile visible just over your right shoulder.

"Later."

Before long the kitchen was filled with the delicious smell of home-cooked food, and both boys' mouths were watering. Not wanting to be pried away from his work, Sam had to have his laptop taken away from him, gently, by you in order to be coaxed to eat. You slid a heaping plate of spaghetti and meatballs in front of the younger Winchester, with a side of green beans and two slices of toast.

"Wow," he blurted. "This looks fantastic." You laughed.

"Oh hush," you chided him. "It's just spaghetti."

"No, really," Dean backed up his little brother as you slid an identical plate in front of him. "No one ever cooks for us. This is awesome." Dean caught your wrist as you walked by. "Just like you," he added in a lower tone, so that Sam couldn't hear. He winked flirtatiously and you giggled. There was your laugh again, soft as if not wanting to disturb anyone with its joy. Dean knew how cheesy that had sounded, but he always loved making you laugh, and he did it as often as he could. And if cheesiness was how he achieved that, then so be it. Plus, you really were awesome.

You smiled genuinely, removing your wrist from his grasp, and lightly ruffled his hair as you walked past him. The touch was gentle, almost absent-minded for you, yet it sent Dean's mind reeling. It sent the older Winchester back to when the air seemed clearer and the sun seemed brighter. Days filled with PB&Js with the crusts cut off and a mother who made them better than anyone else. Afternoons that had he'd taken advantage of so naively, never to realize how precious they'd be to him in the future.

Mary Winchester was the only other person who had ever touched him in that way.

Normally, Dean would have recoiled from such an idea, that no one could ever do that because no one could ever replace his mother. He was her "little angel" and he would never leave her, never trade her for someone else.

But, he didn't feel that way when you touched him. He seemed to relax a little bit, to exhale a breath that had been pent up inside him so long, that the air tasted stale on its way out. Why did he feel this way, he wondered. Anyone else he would have snapped at, swatted their hand away, but not you. You had done it in a way identical to how she would have done it, with a tender touch and the exact same expression. The gesture had hinted that you thought he was childish and ornery in a way that lightened the mood and made others smile, but childish nonetheless. But your eyes, just like his mother's, conveyed your personality and your emotion. You're glance revealed that you were a gentle person, despite the fact that you were tougher than nails and could kick butt when necessary, and that you cared for him. You admired and loved him just as he was, despite how beat-up and adolescent he could be at times.

All of this was a fleeting moment in time, but one that Dean reflected on often. Because as he looked at you, sweaty and disheveled from working, he still thought you were beautiful. You had an energy about you that was radiant and you made everyone happier with a smile or a laugh. He knew you had faults, but he accepted them, just as you had already accepted his.

Dean remembered this moment perfectly, every detail, because this was when he realized that he was deeply, stupidly, crazily in love with you.


End file.
